by Alexis James
I say a quick prayer, thankful yet again that God spared Grandpa Tito. It’s been touch and go, but he’s a feisty old man, and he’s not about to let one stroke derail him. He’s got a long road ahead, relearning some basic functions that were taken from him, but overall he’s finally on the mend, which I’m more than grateful for.
I’ve considered staying here permanently so many times it’s starting to feel less like a wish and more like choice that’s already been made. I’d be giving up the life I’ve made for myself in Miami, the beautiful apartment and the job that seems tailor-made to fit me. I’d be giving up my Saturday afternoons with Amita and the knowledge that no matter how chaotic my week is, I’ll always have her to bounce things off of and confide in. I wish I could say I’d be giving up Cruz too, but I think that ship has already sailed. The tears have long since dried and now whenever I think about him, there’s this deep ache in my heart I fear will never subside. I’ve resorted to making myself have one positive thought about him each day then shoving all thoughts of him aside until the next day. It’s the only way I’ve been able to function coherently and the only way I am able to be there for my family the way they need me to be.
My mom has asked about him a time or two, but whatever it is she sees on my face keeps the majority of the questions at bay. I know she can tell I’m hurting, but I also know she’s willing to give me space to work it out on my own. I only wish I knew how to do that.
Every time I think about him I see Liza’s smirk and the knowing look in her eye that reminds me I’ll never be enough for him. We’ve had our fun, and for a short time I think even he believed we had a future together, but the one step forward, twelve steps back routine of his is all I need to remind myself that while he did care about me in his own way, it was never enough to make him want to give up the lifestyle he’s so comfortable with.
I’m sick with the knowledge he was most likely seeing Liza while he was romancing me. Though it is hard to understand where he’d find the time, I’m not naïve enough to believe it couldn’t happen. I can only hope that whatever, or rather whomever, he chooses for his future that he will somehow figure out a way to find some peace with his past.
Rising, I shake off the sand that lingers on my shorts and quickly cross the beach, stopping once I reach the sidewalk to brush away the sand on my feet and slide my sandals on. The walk back to the house is a long one but like the beach and the waves, it has become my salvation. By the time I return my parents will be up and about, and we can head to the hospital, just as we have every day since the private plane touched down.
It must be nice being Cruz Moran, having planes and cars and people at your disposal. Is that what I was to him? Disposable? I hate to think I’ve misjudged him, but the writing is clearly on the wall. Maybe it’s me that I’ve misjudged, thinking I had a chance with the beautiful, wealthy, enigma of a man who was so very clearly out of my league.
I move with a purpose down the quiet street, glancing up at the cloud-filled sky with a smile. While I despise unpredictability in my life, I embrace it here in Hawaii. I love the warm, sunny weather. The brief, erratic bursts of rain. I relish this lifestyle though; the easy, laid back mentality, which is so unlike the flurry of constant motion that is life in Miami. This suits me, or at least that’s what I’m repeatedly telling myself when I’m deciding whether or not to move back here for good.
My parents are seated at the kitchen table drinking coffee when I arrive back at the house, outfitted in matching robes I gave them last Christmas. Pouring myself a cup, I slide into the chair next to my mom and ask, “What time do you want to head for the hospital?”
Mom shrugs and looks at me with tired eyes, evidence of yet another night of lost sleep. “We’re in no rush today. He’s got physical therapy at nine then speech therapy directly after.”
I nod. “Is the occupational therapist still meeting with us this afternoon?”
She nods. “Yes, she is.”
She and I chat while Dad reads the paper and after inhaling a bowl of oatmeal, I head down the hall to shower and dress. My grandparents’ home is not large, a simple three bedroom tract home like all the rest in this neighborhood. It’s decorated in the typical island style, light and bright with the colors of the ocean splashed across the walls and furnishings.
I’ve been camping out in what was once my gram’s sewing room, the same room where I used to stay as a young girl. It’s a small space but perfect for me, with a twin bed and simple white wicker furniture. The sewing machine now resides at my parents’ house, but there are still boxes of patterns in the closet and one pieced-together dress she was working on when she passed that Tito hasn’t been able to part with.
There’s a bittersweet mixture of present and past every time I step into the small room and if I close my eyes and breathe in deeply, I’m instantly transported back in time to sharing confidences with my gram while she sewed me something new. She had such an easy way of pulling the truth out of me, although at my tender age back then my truths mostly consisted of which boy I was crushing on at the time or some disagreement I was having with my friends. We’d sit in this small room for hours, laughing and talking while she measured and pinned. While I’m certain I took those times for granted, I’m very grateful my memories are as vivid now as they were back then.
Gathering up clean clothes, I head across the hall to shower, my mind a whirl of confusion as it has been since I left Miami. As the water flows over the top of my head, I consider that I’m going to have to contact Cruz soon, even though the idea of it sends me racing toward tears. I have no idea what I’ll say to him. No idea if I ever plan on returning. No idea what my next step is except to get through each day without falling apart completely.
Talking with Marco didn’t help me reach any conclusions. The sound of his voice alone, so much like Cruz’s and yet not, confirmed to me that I’m nowhere near ready to speak to the man who has effectively shattered me beyond repair. While I have hope that I’ll eventually move on from him, I do believe he will always have a permanent place in my heart.
Pulling on a short sundress that my gram made for me on my last visit here before she passed, I leave my hair to dry naturally in waves down my back then pad barefoot toward the front of the house. Voices drift down the hall, two I recognize and one stops me in my tracks.
It’s not possible. There’s no way he can be here. It must be my imagination.
But the closer I get to the kitchen, the more reality slaps me hard across the face. Peering around the corner, I see Cruz seated in the exact spot I vacated only a short time ago, a cup of coffee between his hands as he talks with my parents. He’s dressed as always in a power suit, reminding me all too vividly how very far apart our two lives are. He has always been and will always be the wealthy, arrogant purveyor of his own kingdom. In turn I will always be that doe-eyed innocent following along in his wake.
“Here she is,” my mom says, smiling broadly as I move into the room. “Look who came to see you, Mia.”
Cruz rises slowly, those amazing blue-green eyes of his making a quick assessment of my body before his gaze settles on mine, and I feel it like a knife to my heart. The ability to breathe escapes me, and for a brief moment I wonder if I close my eyes real tight then open them once more will I find him gone. How very sad that I wish that were true, though I’ll admit it’s for the sole purpose to guard my heart.
He moves closer, one slow step at a time, and I can’t determine if he’s hesitant for my sake or his own. Two more steps now and he comes to a halt when there’s but a foot of distance between us, eyes locked on mine like his life depends on it. He looks at me with a mixture of need and fear and confusion, the little boy peeking out from behind the masterful man.
“Hello, Mia. It’s good to see you.”
Tongue-tied, I swallow back the pain of seeing him face to face, turning toward the cupboard, extracting a glass and willing myself to breathe normally. I’m certain I’m supposed to say s
omething, but the words have escaped me. In truth, the only thing that’s going to exit my mouth right at this moment is a scream, so the wisest thing I can do is concentrate on the task at hand. With shaky fingers, I fill the glass with ice and water, grasping it tightly in a weak attempt to control my nerves.
“Your parents told me that your grandfather is making improvements.” I reply with a nod, but refuse to look at him. “How are you doing?”
His question catches me off guard and with a brief shrug, I retreat to the table. Somewhere amidst my foggy and overwhelmed brain, my parents have retreated down the hall to their bedroom, leaving Cruz and I alone together in tense, uncomfortable silence. A part of me wishes I could call them back, embrace them as the buffer between me and the man who seems destined to shatter my heart beyond belief. The other part, the strong part, simply wants to face this head on and be done with it.
He moves toward me, squatting down next to my chair until we’re face to face. I can feel the heat of his body, his breath as it moves across my bare shoulder. The tangible need to reach out and touch him only makes me grip the glass tighter.
“Talk to me, belleza,” he whispers.
Biting hard on my lower lip, I shake my head and look away. I hear his ragged breath and in it all of his frustration at my unwillingness to comply.
“Please, Mia, tell me how I can fix this.”
“You can’t.” The words sit like lead in my stomach, each syllable a painful reminder of the choice I made—a choice I was forced to make because he refused to let go of the ghosts of his past.
He reaches out to touch me and I recoil, quickly getting to my feet once again and moving across the room. I’m quite literally counting the seconds until he’s had enough. Until he knows as well as I do that whatever we had is now over. I can only pray those seconds go quickly, otherwise I’m bound to collapse right here on my Grandpa’s floor in a mess of regret and tears.
But since Cruz has always been unpredictable, he does the opposite of what I expect. Instead of leaving, he moves toward where I’m standing at the counter, looming over me as he cages me in with hands on either side of my body. “I’m not leaving until you look at me. Until you talk to me.”
Why can’t he understand that looking at him is a painful reminder of all I’ve lost? Why can’t he understand that if I open my mouth to speak, I might start screaming and might never stop? Why can’t he understand that even though he’s broken my heart in two, the only thing I want to do is put my arms around him and never let go.
Leaning down, he murmurs, “I’ve fucked up with you, a thousand times. But I never dated Liza. That, I promise you. Contrary to what she’s told you, I’ve never taken her to dinner and I sure as hell have never fucked her, even though I know you believe I have. The only thing I’ve done with Liza is fire her.”
While I might have expected certain words to drift my way, I didn’t expect him to put a voice to all the fears I’ve had about him and the blond bimbo. My head shoots up and my eyes lock on his and in them I see a steadfast determination I’ve never seen before. “You did?”
He nods. “Yes, I did. I don’t want her, Mia. I don’t anyone else. I only want you.”
Shaking my head, I attempt to push him away, but he remains unmovable. “Let me go.”
“Not until you can look at me and say without a doubt that we’re over. Until then, you’re staying right here. With me.”
“Let. Me. Go.” My nerves are strung tightly and the longer I stay encased in his web, the harder it will be to walk away. As it is, holding back the tears is taking every amount of strength I have.
But he is steadfast and stubborn as hell in his determination to get me to listen, to talk, saying calmly, “No.”
Glaring up at him, I snap, “What the hell are you even doing here? You have a business to run.”
His eyebrow shoots up and he smirks at me. “I’m well aware of that.” Leaning close, he closes his eyes and inhales. “Christ, you smell good.”
The warmth of his body causes little pinpricks to appear on the surface of my skin, the visceral reaction I’m having only escalating my frustration and anger with this entire conversation. “Knock it off. You’re not charming me out of my panties this time.”
Taking my words as a dare, he steps closer, leaning down and whispering in my ear, “Not now. But I will. You can bet on it.”
Everything south of my waist begins to tingle and wetness pools between my thighs. “Why are you here Cruz?”
He shrugs. “I’m here because you need me.”
“No, I don’t.”
With one more step his body is flush against mine and every breath, every thought is suddenly halted. I can feel his lips in my hair, his fingers drifting up and down my arm, as he whispers, “You need my strength … to help you like you helped me. You need me to lean on, to confide in, and to hold you when you’re sad. You need me exactly the same way that I need you. Completely.”
“Please don’t do this,” I beg, not even really sure what I’m asking.
“I’m not letting you go, Mia. Not until you can convince me we don’t have a future together.”
Anger flares to the surface as I glare up at him. “Since when have you been interested in a future with me?”
“Since the first day you walked into my office.”
Shoving at his chest, he thankfully allows me the space I need to put some distance between us. “That’s such crap. You may have wanted me in your bed, but not once have you talked about a future.”
Propping himself against the counter, he shoves his hands into his pockets and shoots me a raw, pained look. “Until you came along, my future was set. I assumed I’d work myself to death for the rest of my life and seek comfort in the arms of someone who I paid to be there. I never once considered I might need something more, that I might want something more. Not until you came along, Mia. You made me want to be happy again. You made me want more. You made me want everything.”
Rolling my eyes, I pull my arms tight across my chest. “We’ve not exactly made one another happy. You know that right?”
He shrugs, taking my words in stride. “Maybe not all of the time, but we’ve had our moments. Think about New Orleans. Think about that weekend at my house or the one at yours. We were happy then. You know it as well as I do.”
“We were happy. But you can’t build a future on a few weekends or a few days in a strange city together. You have to want the normal stuff…” I gesture to the room, arms wide “…this is the normal stuff. A home and a family and all the boring, monotonous things that come with living life.” Tears suddenly fill my eyes. “This isn’t what you want and you know it. You want your work and your women and all your millions.”
His eyes narrow. “What I want has nothing to do with my work or the money I make or the women I used to be with.” His hands tear through his hair. “I want you, Mia. I want us. I want to figure out how we can meld our two worlds and make a life together.” He moves toward me. “I’m not saying it will be perfect, because neither of us are perfect people, but we are perfect for each other. That, I believe … that, I know … without a doubt.”
Tears drip down my face as I absorb his words. “How can I ever be perfect for you when you constantly have to convince yourself I’m what you want?”
He blanches at my harsh words. “The only convincing I need is to let go of my past and be at peace with what happened. I don’t need to be convinced that I want you or that I need you. That’s a given.”
He seems so sure of everything now, which is far different than the uncertain man he was just a few short weeks ago. “Why are you all of a sudden so convinced we can make this work?”
His eyes settle on mine and in them I see resolve and certainty like I’ve never seen before. “Because the idea of being without you is incomprehensible.” He takes a few more steps, and once more barricades me against the kitchen counter. “If I’ve learned nothing else in the past few weeks, it’s that I can’
t imagine a day without you in it.” Suddenly, he wraps his arms around me and pulls me against his chest. “Ah, babe, I know I’ve screwed this up, and for that I apologize. But please give me one more chance. Please give me a chance to love you like you deserve to be loved.”
With a sob, I grip him tight and press my face against his chest, breathing in the spicy, intoxicating smell of his cologne. I want more than anything to believe what he’s saying and to trust his words as the truth. I want more than anything to let him love me, but I fear I won’t ever hold his heart as tight as his past.
“We can make this work, Mia. I believe that.” His lips nestle next to my ear. “Let me love you, querida. Let me make you happy.”
Rising up my toes, my lips find his in a sweet, soft kiss that I feel over the entire surface of my body. The gentleness of his touch and his soft, pleading words send the doubts running swiftly away. And though I don’t fully believe they won’t return, I do believe in the love I feel for this complicated, amazing man.
“I love you,” I whisper across his lips.
“Yo también te amo,” he says in return.
Smiling through the tears, I ask, “Does that mean what I think it does?”
He kisses me softly and replies, “Yes, belleza. It means that I love you too.” His forehead drops down to mine and his eyes drift closed. “I was so afraid that I lost you.”
Hearing his raw, frank words cuts me to the core, sending a fresh wave of tears trailing down my face. He wipes each one away with his thumbs, gently cradling my face in his large hands. I know we have much more to discuss, but right here in this moment the only thing that matters is that we love one another. The rest, as my gram used to say, will work itself out in the wash.